


God Save Ireland

by Footloose



Series: Loaded March EXTRAS [22]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine tries to hide it.  Everyone only ever sees the rogue, the louse, the tease.  Few know that he feels just as deeply as anyone, if not more so.  He'll paste a brave smile and never let anyone see his tears, but sometimes, he can't hide them at all, not when he struggles to find a way to say good-bye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God Save Ireland

**Author's Note:**

> This Extra is set pre-Excalibur, and is written in honour of all those who have served and who are serving in the defence of their countries and the fight for peace. Thank you for your service.
> 
> * * *

The frosted grass crinkled under Gwaine's feet. 

He tried not to think what the sound reminded him of, but the cold wind biting through his open jacket stirred up old memories whether he liked it or not.

Each crunch of gravel under his army boots were old bones dried out by desert sand and merciless sun. The ground glistened green with the same shine of polished stone in holy places, broken and smashed, littering a worn, stone floor. The sky was almost the same colour as it had been that day, weeks ago, though it had been so warm, then, that he'd been half-blinded with sweat pouring down his brow.

He was half-blinded with tears, now.

He stopped walking. He didn't want to walk left when he should step right and break his ankle in a ditch, not this close to the end of his grudgingly dispensed R&R. His reassignment was finally official. He'd been looking forward to it for months, bragging about it to anyone who would listen. A brand new team, made out of the best of them all, using cutting edge tactics and techniques that would finally use Gwaine's unconventional approach to their advantage.

A part of him had groused that Arthur had been dragging his heels when it came to getting Gwaine's papers through, but he knew Arthur had done everything he could to get Gwaine out as quickly as possible. His new team was waiting for him. They'd depend on him. He couldn't let them down.

He couldn't let anyone down.

Not again.

Gwaine nearly knocked himself out with the whiskey bottle when he rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. The sharp edge of the button at his cuff caught and scraped his cheek. It stung, but it didn't last, and the distraction left him tottering on his feet.

At least his eyes weren't frozen shut, now. It took him some doing, but he managed some forward momentum.

Fucking hills.

He stumbled. He didn't look back to see if it was a rock or a gravestone plate that he'd tripped over. He muttered something of an apology for disturbing bones at rest, just in case. He kept going. He wasn't so drunk that he couldn't find his way around. He was the best sniper the army had ever seen. The best scout. He didn't need maps. A photograph of random treetops would do, and he'd find his way out, guaranteed, every time.

Cities, not so much. Cities. 

Cities with their tall buildings and rickety rooftops. With smoke from a leaky chimney, oily and sticky from a dinner that didn't smell appetizing. Twisted roads that led nowhere. Dead-ends and alleys that rounded back the way they started. Streets too narrow for a Humvee. Linen hanging on lines stretched from building to building, fluttering in the kick-up of a breeze that might turn into a storm. Window shutters that were open, with crowds of people moving inside. Window shutters that were closed, blocking lines of sight.

Everything blocked his lines of sight.

He hated cities.

Gwaine laughed humourlessly. He wasn't even sure what he was laughing at. Maybe he was laughing at the gravestone with the one-winged angel and the five-pack of beer hanging from its hand.

He stopped short, wondering if he should have brought beer instead. He decided that it didn't matter, because Reilly was dead. Whether it was beer or whiskey, it would probably taste the same once it trickled through six feet of freshly-disturbed topsoil.

He kept walking.

Gwaine hadn't made it in time for the funeral. He'd tried. Asked a clerk to help him dot all the I's and cross the T's. He had done his best, but it hadn't been enough, not when he'd been assigned on advance scout and overwatch for another team. His C.O. hadn't even known. The orders had come from over his head. If it wasn't for one incursion around border territories, it was another assignment ten klicks away by helicopter. Urgent, never-ending, one job after another, until he came back, dusty and exhausted, to the good news of an approved leave and the bad news of having missed the next plane out.

Gwaine fell on his knees at the foot of Reilly's grave. The cold earth seeped through the coarse canvas of his trousers and into his bones.

"I'm so fucking sorry, MacDonald," Gwaine said. His words were slurred, but he figured Reilly would know what he meant anyway.

The wind picked up. The few remaining leaves rustled. 

Gwaine chuckled. "I can explain. They wouldn't let me go. Chased the fucking plane down the tarmac. Had to wait two days for the next one. But you know me. I always like making an entrance."

He trailed off. Reilly had been in hysterics the day Gwaine followed through when he lost a bet and showed up in the mess wearing the most flamboyant costume Morgana could scrounge up -- frilly skirt, coconut bra, long red wig -- and send to him on short notice. It had been well worth it, because Reilly hadn't cracked a smile in months.

Not since he'd lost his brother in a mission gone bad.

"I saw your mum," Gwaine said, the laughter gone from his voice. She'd lost two sons to this war. Her spouse to a car crash several years before. He couldn't imagine the strength of that woman, to keep a brave face after everything. "She looked good. Strong. Surviving. I couldn't..."

His voice broke. 

"... couldn't tell her. It was my fault. She should hate me. I'm the reason why you're dead."

Reilly had never been able to shoot worth shite, and for the longest time, Gwaine had never figured out why the Brass had put them together. The kid had always kept up with Gwaine, more than anyone else in the squad, and even though he'd never been particularly reliable on a sniper gun, he'd been the best spotter Gwaine had ever had.

Would ever have.

"I shouldn't have taken that mission," Gwaine said morosely. It wasn't as if he'd had a choice, but he could have at least put up more than the token protest. Reilly had stayed at the FOB with the others and had been assigned to another squad. Gwaine had returned and found half of his team scrambling, because Reilly's mission had gone wrong.

So wrong.

Reilly, his unknown squadmates, his new, temporary C.O., they had gone into a beleaguered city in search of several men who had been seen loitering at the foot of a bridge the night before an American platoon marched through. There had been a bomb. 

A lot of good soldiers were killed crossing that bridge.

" _You_ shouldn't have gone," Gwaine said, too sad to be angry, though he was. "Shouldn't have been there at all."

Gwaine didn't have the details. Access to the mission notes were over his pay grade. But he'd put enough together to know that Reilly's temporary squad had been ambushed, herded, and pinned down. At least two more teams had gone in to try to offer support, but had only ended up part of the landscape. A Blackhawk helicopter had tried to come in, only to be waved off by the American Brass when the ground-to-air missiles threatened its safety.

Gwaine fucking hated cities, but when they'd asked for volunteers, he'd been the first one on the truck.

"Why'd you have to go and be so brave?" Gwaine whispered. "Why'd you go and run the other way when I radioed in?"

It had taken forever to track down Reilly and the three soldiers with him. Gwaine had nearly gotten his head blown off when he'd raced down crooked streets, chasing a team leader who hadn't known _what the fuck he was doing_. Gwaine had doubled back twice, climbed a building, found a spot with the best vantage, and finally spotted them.

_"Come on, Reilly. I need you south by southwest of your position yesterday. You're getting hemmed in. Get moving -- get moving now --"_

"You never listen to me. I get it. I never listen to anyone either. I'm a bad influence. But why did you have to pick _that moment_ to be a fucking idiot?"

Gwaine bowed his head. He stared at the upturned dirt. He shook his head.

"Damn you, Reilly. Why'd you have to go and be a better man than me? Why'd you have to save those soldiers, too?"

Reilly and his boys had been retreating. They'd followed Gwaine's directions up until the point that more soldiers -- they'd looked to be French, with a few Americans and Canadians thrown in -- emerged out of a nearby alley, dodging enemy fire. Reilly had taken shelter, returned fire to give them cover, and...

And there'd been a goddamned _ledge_ blocking Gwaine's shot. 

Reilly had saved everyone.

"You _died_ ," Gwaine said.

He stared at the grave in silence. He stared at the letters carved in the marble headstone.

_Joseph Reilly MacDonald_  
 _  
_ _Beloved Son, Brave Soldier_

The purple sash across the flowered wreath hid the rest of it, but it didn't matter. Gwaine wiped a tear from his eye.

"Fucking did me proud, Reilly," Gwaine said. "Did _everyone_ proud."

He burrowed a hole for the whiskey bottle close to the headstone, pulled the cork, and took a swig.

He raised the bottle in the air. "To you, Reilly. The best man I've ever known who couldn't hit the bloody broadside of a barn with the biggest bazooka known to man."

Gwaine upended the bottle into the hole, the whiskey bubbling and burbling into the ground. He stood up straight, saluted sharply even though Reilly had been his junior.

_"High upon the gallows tree swung the noble-hearted three._  
 _By the vengeful tyrant stricken in their bloom;_  
 _But they met him face to face, with the courage of their race,_  
 _And they went with souls undaunted to their doom._  
  
 _""God save Ireland!" said the heroes;_  
 _"God save Ireland" said they all._  
 _Whether on the scaffold high_  
 _Or the battlefield we die  
_ _Oh, what matter when for Erin dear we fall!_

The wind picked up, icy and terrible in the evening chill. The sky darkened and the setting sun set the horizon aflame.

_"Girt around with cruel foes, still their courage proudly rose,_  
 _For they thought of hearts that loved them far and near;_  
 _Of the millions true and brave o'er the ocean's swelling wave  
_ _And the friends in holy Ireland ever dear._

_""God save Ireland!" said the heroes;_  
 _"God save Ireland" said they all._  
 _Whether on the scaffold high_  
 _Or on the battlefield we die  
_ _Oh, what matter when for Erin dear we fall!"_

Music played in the distance coming from the nearby town. It was stretched whisper-thin from its cacophonous rhythm, and it was almost perfect in its mournful bass.

_"Climbed they up the rugged stair, rang their voices out in prayer,_  
 _Then with England's fatal cord around them cast,_  
 _Close beside the gallows tree kissed like brothers lovingly,_  
 _True to home and faith and freedom to the last._  
 __  
_""God save Ireland!" said the heroes;_  
 _"God save Ireland" said they all._  
 _Whether on the scaffold high_  
 _Or on the battlefield we die  
_ _Oh, what matter when for Erin dear we fall!"_

A stout, solid, familiar baritone joined in, Arthur's presence warm at Gwaine's side. Gwaine had never been more grateful that Arthur had badgered Gwaine into teaching him the song than at this moment, when Gwaine's voice faltered through his tears.

_"Never till the latest day shall the memory pass away,_  
 _Of the gallant lives thus given for our land;_  
 _But on the cause must go, amidst joy and weal and woe,_  
 _Till we make our Isle a nation free and grand._  
 __  
_""God save Ireland!" said the heroes;_  
 _"God save Ireland" said they all._  
 _Whether on the scaffold high_  
 _Or the battlefield we die,  
_ _Oh, what matter when for Erin dear we fall!"_

A bird fluttered in the distance, springing free of the treeline, disappearing into the searing bright of the setting sun. 

Gwaine stood there until the last rays dipped and faded, leaning more against Arthur than he'd ever admit. The lump in his throat faded, finally, and he muttered, "Fuck you, Reilly. You were a good mate."

Arthur clapped a hand on Gwaine's back. He grabbed the shoulder of Gwaine's jacket and pulled him in close, comforting in ways that Gwaine hadn't known he'd needed.

"The Brass send you?" Gwaine asked eventually, staring at the bottle in the ground, regretting not having taken at least one more drink. Reilly wouldn't have minded.

"They told me what happened," Arthur said. "I was in London. I'm sorry. I didn't hear until this morning."

"Bet they think I'm pulling a runner," Gwaine scoffed.

Arthur snorted. "The speed at which they signed off my travel plans does imply something of the sort. It would have helped if you'd called in to confirm your flight tomorrow morning."

"I'd have made it," Gwaine said. Then, softly, he murmured, "I don't want to go back."

"You won't," Arthur said. "They knew you were reassigned. I realize they were short on people with your skill set, but sending you on all those missions at the last minute was unacceptable."

"I went," Gwaine said. "It's on me. I should have --"

"Stop," Arthur said firmly. He grabbed Gwaine and turned him. Gwaine had no choice but to look at his feet or at Arthur. Arthur's cheek was scruffy from a five o'clock gone wrong, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his dress uniform was rumpled. His light coat wasn't enough for the weather, but the cold didn't seem to bother him. "You'll carry this until the end of your days. The shot you couldn't take because everything was in the way. But Lieutenant MacDonald? You'll carry him, too, but not because he was the man you couldn't save. You'll remember him because he's the man who gave his all."

Gwaine sniffled and looked away. He rubbed the snot on his coat sleeve.

"Just like you do." Arthur squeezed Gwaine's shoulders. "He had a good teacher."

"Arthur --"

The shake Arthur gave him rattled Gwaine's teeth and did him no favours given the state of his head and his liver.

"Yeah, okay," Gwaine said, because he knew of no other way to save himself.

"Yeah?"

"It'll sink in, I promise," Gwaine admitted. "Someday."

Arthur made a sound like he wasn't surprised, but that he'd let it lie for now. "Come on. Let's get some coffee in you. Sort you out for tomorrow."

Gwaine groaned, but he gave Reilly's grave one last look before letting Arthur pull him away. "What if I don't want to be sorted?"

"Well. Then you'll miss your train to London where you're to report to your Captain for your first day with Excalibur." Arthur reached into his overcoat and handed over a folded page that contained, Gwaine guessed, his new orders. Gwaine took it, but he didn't bother to unfold the sheet. It was too dark to read it, anyway.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Arthur confirmed.

Neither one of them spoke until they reached the gates. Arthur stopped, turned on his heel, and saluted.

Gwaine did, too, though he wasn't quite as sharp, nor was he as crisp.

They held the salute for a long time. Too long in this cold. Long enough for Gwaine to start feeling sober. Long enough for the grief to sink in, long enough to say good-bye.

"Ready?" Arthur asked, breaking the silence.

"You'll never hold me back?" Gwaine asked. He didn't think he could do it if someone stopped him from doing what he needed to do to save his team.

Arthur snorted. "I know better."

Gwaine lowered his arm. He straightened his rumpled clothes, brushed his hands through his hair.

He nodded to himself.

"Then, yeah. I'm ready."

**Author's Note:**

> The song is _God Save Ireland_ , the lyrics taken from [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/God_Save_Ireland).


End file.
